


a spiral pull

by orphan_account



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Nosebleed, Other, Tentacle Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 02:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13137078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jon isn’t particularlysurprisedthat Michael can still find him at Georgie’s. Michael clearly isn’t tied to the Archives in any way, so it makes sense that it would be able to find him just as easily somewhere else as it seems to whenever it’s wanted to torment him or ‘help’ him - in its own twisted way - there.





	a spiral pull

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dussek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dussek/gifts).



> i read 'deeply unsettling Michael/Jon mind manipulation xeno bloodplay tentacle fuckery' in the letter as an option and i'm pretty sure that constituted a legally binding contract in which i _had_ to write a treat because hello, yes, you rang?

Jon isn’t particularly _surprised_ that Michael can still find him at Georgie’s. Michael clearly isn’t tied to the Archives in any way, so it makes sense that it would be able to find him just as easily somewhere else as it seems to whenever it’s wanted to torment him or ‘help’ him - in its own twisted way - there.

This time he can’t tell what it _does_ want, though. He wakes up in the dark in the spare room and has a moment where everything seems normal before he registers it _standing there_ , just in the corner and watching him. There’s a door next to it that doesn’t belong in the room, and god knows where _that_ leads.

Michael cocks its head slightly when Jon sits up and fetches his glasses, scowling at it.

“What do _you_ want?”

Michael - as expected, really - seems more amused by the question than anything else, and it just hums and smiles too wide and straightens its neck again in a movement that looks too sharp to be natural.

“There’s no need to be _rude_ , Archivist,” it says, sounding altogether too pleased with itself to manage any semblance of offence. “Isn’t seeing a familiar face the sort of thing that humans like?”

Jon doesn’t bother to justify that with any response beyond his scowl increasing in intensity, and after a few moments the thing laughs.

“I brought you a door,” it says then, and as much as it’s speaking as though that’s some sort of gift, it mostly brings to mind the way that cats gift people with dead things; unpleasant, wholly unwanted, and something it’s definitely too early in the morning for Jon to be up for dealing with.

“Where does _this_ one lead?” he asks it. “The tunnels again? Directly into a police cell? Your _corridors_?”

Michael’s smile gets wider, and it laughs again without answering, and then it places its hands together and cracks a few knuckles in a casual movement that somehow triggers some sort of fight-or-flight reflex in Jon, because the sound has him out of bed and flinching back against the wall furthest from Michael before he even registers that he’s moved.

(he can’t describe quite what was so _wrong_ about the sound, beyond the fact that Michael’s hands are not _correct_ and if he never has to hear the thing do that again it’ll be too soon)

“Now you can come and find out, Archivist,” Michael tells him.

Jon takes a moment to weigh up his chances on succeeding at _anything_ that isn’t ‘exactly what Michael apparently wants’, and then sighs heavily and makes for the door. He’s not sure he trusts Michael to return him, let alone in one piece, but he also doubts he’s going to be allowed to stop in and explain to Georgie that, don’t worry, he’s just popping out for a minute with some kind of inhuman monster and not to wait up since he’ll probably turn up dead or not at all.

He’s entirely too tired for all of this.

Michael doesn’t seem to follow him through the door, but when he’s on the other side and the door shuts behind him it’s there anyway, head cocked to one side and watching him as he tries to look around the place the door led to. _Tries_ being the operative word, because as much as the place looks like it might be described as a room in theory, the dimensions of it warp and shift every time Jon tries to focus on them, and the walls seem to be one color when he looks directly at them and another out of the corner of his eye.

“What _is_ this place?” he asks.

“Is it a place?” it asks in response.

So no help there, then, clearly. Focusing directly on Michael, because it seems to be staying mostly solid-looking in comparison to the odd, warping surroundings, Jon tries again.

“Why did you bring me here?”

Michael appears to contemplate the question for a moment.

“...for entertainment, I think,” it settles on eventually.

Jon can’t tell if he’s just imagining the way it almost seems disconcerted when it says _I think_. He also can’t decide whether it’s advisable to ask what the thing means by entertainment, and between those two he’s left just squinting suspiciously at it and waiting to see if it’ll explain itself.

It makes no move to explain or to do anything else, at first. Just watches him back and doesn’t blink once. And then abruptly it’s moving forward, closing the gap between them, and reaching up to put its thumb over his bottom lip. The touch makes Jon jerk, frozen between wanting to get away from it and not being sure if he dares to, and the movement has Michael’s finger cutting his lip, which makes him hiss through his teeth at the sharp pain.

“You’ll have to be more careful than _that_ ,” Michael says, even as it’s shifting its thumb and smearing the blood across his lips. It moves its hand carefully enough to avoid cutting him again so long as he stays still, but the sensation is still far from anything human.

When it finally pulls its hand back, Jon automatically licks the blood off his lips - not quite missing the way Michael’s eyes seem to light up at the motion, though he thinks he would have preferred to - and then asks, “What are you _doing_?”

There’s a long pause where Michael just watches him, long enough that he half-expects not to get an answer at all, before it says, as though it’s just come to a decision, “ _You_ , Archivist.”

Which is definitely not what he’d been expecting, and he doesn’t know what to make of it at _all_ , and before he’s even had time to fully process it the maybe-a-room shifts and warps in some way that has him horizontal and with Michael on top of him without either of them ever having moved.

“Michael,” he tries, but he can’t tell what he was going to say after that and so he ends up just staring up at Michael as it sits on top of him and somehow registers as too heavy and too light all at the same time.

“You,” it says, “Are… _unsettling_ , Archivist.”

It takes Jon a moment to even process that, considering the combination of the words and _what’s saying them_ , and he’s left somewhere between confused, terrified and offended.

“What do you—”

“You have _unsettled_ me,” Michael says this time, with the air of someone struggling to articulate something important. “I am… a _what_ , Archivist, not a _who_ , and _yet_.”

“And yet…?”

Michael doesn’t answer him, just keeps on staring down at him, and then the not-a-room shifts and warps in an odd way again and there are tendrils extending from the floor - or, at least, the plane of the maybe-room that Jon’s back is pressed against - that hold him down and twitch and pulse against him in odd ways.

“The Archivist isn’t allowed in the corridors,” Michael says, and Jon can’t tell if it’s an abrupt subject change or somehow related to what it was saying before.

“At least at the moment,” it carries on. “But I felt this would be best without an _audience_.”

It looks disconcerted again, and this time Jon’s almost certain he’s not imagining it. At _I felt_ , this time, and even though it hadn’t explained itself before, he gets the feeling he halfway follows what it’s complaining about even if he can’t for the life of him understand _why_ the thing would apparently be growing some kind of actual identity, let alone how that would be anything to do with him.

There’s also the matter of the last part.

“An _audience_? What do you mean?”

Michael cocks its head and contemplates him and, as it does, the tendrils holding him down start to shift and slide under his clothes, which is definitely a _distraction_ , but not enough to prevent him from wanting an answer if Michael has any inclination of providing one.

“Did you not know the Eye has someone watching you all the time?” it asks, and then pauses and cocks its head in the other direction. “Or perhaps not _has him watching_ , but he watches you anyway.”

That’s a terrifying thought, particularly when he considers the possibilities; he doesn’t think it’s Martin or Tim, not least of all because he’s sure Martin would have tried to contact him and Tim would have turned him in to the police at this point if either of them knew where he was. Which leaves either an unknown person or Elias, considering that Michael had said _he_.

(he’s also not particularly inclined to ask _Michael_ whether ‘all the time’ was literal or not, but the possibility that it _might_ have been is… something, certainly)

Before he can decide whether to say something or ask something or anything else in that vein, the possibility is abruptly cut off by one of the odd tendrils that had been snaking across his skin reaching his neck and then shooting up to press into his mouth before he has any time to react. He lets out a protesting noise and tries to reach up and pull it out, only to find that the grip on his arms has him pinned securely in place.

Michael just silently watches his reactions, staring down and then moving forward with an odd ripple of its body until it’s sat more over his stomach, which feels like it ought to prevent him from breathing properly but - thankfully - doesn’t seem to. Michael is still too heavy and too light for its size at the same time, and the sensation is _odd_ but at least balances out in a way that leaves him still breathing. Admittedly only via huffed breaths through his nose because of the tendril in his mouth, but at least he’s getting oxygen. Or, at least, something that seems to be doing the trick - who knows if it’s actually oxygen, in this place that isn’t a place.

The reason for Michael moving becomes clear a few moments later when the tendrils sliding up his legs make it high enough, and Jon jolts sharply under it as they slide against him, slick to the touch where they hadn’t been a moment ago when they were just against his legs. He tries to protest around the tendril keeping him gagged, but the ones between his legs just keep pulsing and dripping and squirming and by the time one finally stops teasing at his hole and presses in, the noises he’s making have shifted from protest into encouragement somewhere along the way. He shudders and jerks under the attentions of the tendrils, and each time he tries to buck upwards Michael shivers where it’s sat atop him, the movement managing to look less and less human each time and, when he’s this turned on, not putting Jon off in the slightest even though he knows it probably _should_.

( _all_ of this should be off-putting, and he’s aware that it _was_ before, and yet—)

As the tendrils keep up their movement and Michael shivers above him, as well as the building pressure in his abdomen there’s an odd pressure in Jon’s head, one that only makes sense when he finally jerks and clenches around the tendril inside him and suddenly his nose is bleeding heavily, managing to drip downwards as though he’s stood up despite every one of his senses insisting he’s horizontal. Michael blinks at the sight, and then Jon jerks his hips up again and it makes an odd noise that he doesn’t quite have words for and curls in toward him, which he’s oddly grateful for if only because it masks at least _some_ of how much the movements of its body at that moment are very much not human.

Inhuman movements or not, Jon can recognize - even wrung out from his own orgasm and slightly lightheaded from the continuing nosebleed - that that was something in the vicinity of an orgasm itself, whatever equivalent of it Michael is capable of, and that’s… something he shouldn’t feel oddly proud of himself for, at the very least, but—

Well. The nosebleed is frankly rather alarming, so at least he has ‘blood loss’ to fall back on as a justification.

After a few more moments the potential room shifts and warps again and they’re both suddenly vertical again - Jon without tendrils all over him and in his mouth, which definitely shouldn’t be disappointing on _any_ level - and Michael is stood close to him without touching, just watching him closely. He takes a moment there to catch his breath properly, nose still dripping blood but thankfully slower now, and tries to work out what he’s supposed to say or do now, when Michael abruptly steps to the side and there’s a door behind it.

“You really _should_ stop that bleeding,” it tells him, as casually as though it’s remarking on the weather.

(not that he can particularly imagine a conversation about the weather with Michael, and not that he’s sure he’d particularly want to _try_ to imagine that)

It just stands beside the door as he moves to open it, and as he touches the door he pauses and looks back at it.

“Are you going to follow me?” he asks, not entirely sure which answer he’d prefer and not really knowing what to make of that.

It blinks down at him, seeming to contemplate, before eventually saying, “Not _tonight_ , Archivist.”

He’s almost disappointed, despite himself, but the fact it clearly intends to come back some other time is… more appealing than it ought to be, and enough to settle him for now and have him taking the door out, grateful when it leads right back to the spare room again.

(in the morning he’ll address the fact that his definitely-turned-off-when-he-left phone is now turned on and he has three missed calls and one text reading _Jon. Where did it take you and what are you doing following it?_ , all from Elias, but right now all he can manage is dealing with the nosebleed and crashing back into bed)


End file.
